Carpe Diem, Part Six
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Everyday is something new
That I'm just not used to
Givin' me a whole new outlook
Everyday I wonder why
Wondering with a sigh
Was it my love you took
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Four days.
The words echoed in Corr's head harshly, making him fall into a dreamlike stance in classes. His head was spinning and there was some type of regret that pulsed in all of his thoughts.
Tom was right, Corr realized sadly in Mathematics. I do have a crush on her.
He wasn't supposed to do this—fall for his servant. It was strictly forbidden, an unspoken rule of protocol. And the reason no one ever spoke it was because no one ever thought that anyone would dare love a lower class. Especially a servant—boys weren't even supposed to have female servants! What was wrong with him?
So when Tom proposed a fencing match after classes, Corr readily agreed, if only to get his mind off the impending dilemma of Joey. Tom always won; there was no point, really, in playing a "game" that you always lost. Just like there's no point in playing a game of love you can't win, Corr noted. He hit himself hard for that comment, idiotic as it was.
As he was putting on his practice padding, Corr remembered that he had left his fencing gloves in the room when he had gotten lunch. Thick, heavy, and lined with mail, they were meant to make it feel as if the person was wearing armor. Caught not wearing them, Corr would be put to punishment work. He swore and pulled off the padding, racing back to his room. Tom had started a mock battle with Jackin of Hillsbough, anyway—Corr would have plenty of time to retrieve his things.
Walking towards the room, Corr could tell something was not right. The door was ajar and noise was emitting from it. Violent noise.
He kicked the door open and drew his sword—
Joey was standing in the middle of the room, dagger in hand. Her opponent was a burly man in his early thirties with a sword, the kind of brute who had muscles where his brain was—or rather, was not. Joey's shirt was torn down the middle, revealing a lot of scratched, bloody skin, and her skirt was nearly in the same condition.
"Joey?" Corr asked uncertainly.
"Hello, Corr. Your fencing gloves are on the table, if you wanted them. I thought you might be coming for them." She took careful aim and threw the dagger. It landed in the man's shoulder, but he pulled it out quickly and tossed it aside.
"Oh, great," breathed Joey. The man advanced, pinning her against the wall.
"Toss the pot, wouldya, Corr?" For the first time, Joey had reverted to common speech.
Corr felt his hand fall on a metal object. He threw it to Joey.
"The little darling's only got a kettle, now looky there," the man said, grinning toothlessly. "Well, guess I've got the advantage here…"
"Sorry, but you really don't," said Joey with an innocent smile. "See?" She crashed the pot into his head, landing him a broken nose and jaw. He fell to the ground.
"Sword, please," Joey requested. Corr handed it to her, and she balanced it at the base of the man's throat.
"I'm going to report you to the Goddess's warriors," Joey said, "if you don't get out of here in three seconds. One… Two…" The man dodged the swordpoint and charged out of the hall. Joey wiped her bloody hands on her skirt, even though it wasn't really in much better of a condition, and turned to Corr.
"Well, get your glove," she prompted. He instead pushed her onto the bed.
"Ouch!"
"Sit still!"
"I am! Could you give me some air instead of trying to kill me? Oh, dammit."
Joey had looked down at her clothes and evidently realized they were in a state of… well… disarray would be an incredible understatement.
"Don't get any ideas," she warned Corr. Before he could ask what she meant, she had pulled her shirt over her head.
"What are you—"
"I said, don't get any ideas. Now, where'd you put the towels?"
Corr didn't answer: he was still trying to adjust to the fact that his servant/friend/crush was sitting on his bed half-naked. At least she was wearing a breast band, he reflected momentarily.
"Corr?" He snapped back to consciousness. "Thank you. Where are the towels?" repeated Joey.
"Under the couch."
"Why'd you put them there?"
"I dunno."
"Oh, never mind." Joey rose to her feet and started to walk. Halfway there, she collapsed, her knees buckling, and hit the floor hard. Corr stared at her and swore vividly.
Oh, Mithros, please let her be
alive.
The thought passed quickly, and Corr scolded himself for being so stupid. Of course she was alive.
He retrieved the mentioned towels and soaked them in the water that was boiling, apparently for tea. Hoping that Joey hadn't put salt or tea leaves in yet, he pressed them to her skin and worked his way around her body.
Three-quarters of the way done, he met with a bruise. Taking his chances and prodding it, he caused Joey to stir from her unconscious state.
"'Lo, Corr," she whispered.
"Go back to sleep," he said through a tight throat.
"I am."
He tore a towel and bandaged her. After finishing, Joey looked practically presentable, aside from the fact that she also resembled a corpse swathed in white. Corr picked her up gently and sat down on the bed. He stayed like that for a long time, cradling her injured body in strong arms, afraid if he set her down she'd wake up. Besides, it felt nice holding her…
Okay, Tom, I admit it. I have a
horribly huge crush on her.
"Corr?"
She was awake.
"Yeah?"
"I'll stay," she said. "I'll stay."
Joey curled her arms around her neck. He would have suspected her of actually liking him, but then again, she was half asleep. He smiled.
This
feels nice.
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Is anyone actually paying attention to this
story? Well, please review, even if it is horrendously mush. Love ya'll that
review (platonically)!
~FireLily